I Will Remember You
by dualxwielder
Summary: Inspired by an art piece by deviantartist RubyD, this is an exploratory vignette into the dreams and memories of Riku as he travels throughout his life and his memories with Sora.


Sometimes he was sure he wasn't dreaming.

The sun was tangible warmth on his skin. He could feel it because his arms were bare, just like they always were, just like he always remembered them. No restrictions, no chains. No heavy stifling swaths of leather, no remembered nightmares of existing in another's skin. No cloying, suffocating darkness. Only the real, soft, gentle warmth of the summer sun.

The distant cry of gulls.

Those times were so real he'd awaken to the taste of salt in his mouth and nose, though he would quickly realize it was his own tears he tasted. Those times, he cradled his head in his hands and swore he'd never sleep again.

But everybody sleeps. He tried, he really did. But the dreams…they came anyway.

6 A.M.

He's traveling alone. The companion he had on this road was separated from him a week ago, and since then he's been finding his own way. It's slow progress. The road is solid now, less stardust and obsidian and more dust and granite. Sometimes, he thinks he can smell grass, though the sun never rises here to allow it to grow. This is an in-between place.

Someone is calling his name.

_Do you remember?_

_The day was sunny and he'd just turned seven. He hadn't wanted to invite the scrawny boy with the tousled brown hair to his party, but his mom made him. He didn't really want a party at all, but all the kids in the neighborhood had already been told, and who turns down presents? There was a piñata and the mouse was too short to hold the stick high enough to hit it. It'd been funny to watch until the kid took off his blindfold and began to cry._

_When he'd finally cracked the piñata open, he gave the kid half of the candy inside. No one else said anything. He'd dared them to._

It's not his name after all, just the wind. Somehow, that hurts even more.

2 PM

Since leaving the castle, he's taken to watching his back. Sometimes he's almost positive he's being followed, but no matter how he ducks around shadows and conceals himself carefully, there's never anyone there. He knows some things happened in that place…was it a place?…that were important, but sometimes he catches the thoughts slipping away. That's ridiculous, though. Thoughts are his, not anyone else's. They can't leave unless he makes them go.

He catches them as they fly and chains them down. In the shadows the whispers come, but this time, it's not the wind anymore.

_"If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?"_

_The wood of the gangplank was rough beneath his legs; he could feel it every time he moved. It didn't seem to bother the blue-eyed boy sitting next to him, who was swinging his legs back and forth like pendulums. Splinters, he thought. He'll be crying about splinters later._

_"I don't know," he said, looking off into the horizon. Wishes were pretty dumb. Everyone knew they never came true._

_"Aw, c'mon. You don't even know one?" He knew that voice, that cloying tone; it wouldn't stop until he answered. It didn't matter whether he looked in front of him or to the side into round, prying eyes – it was all the same sky blue horizon anyway._

_"Maybe…to be the strongest. So no one could ever hurt me."_

_He could picture the expression on the face beside him: pursed lips, slightly narrowed eyes surrounded by thick brown lashes, bottom lip protruding slightly farther than the top. He'd seen that face a thousand times before._

_"Well, then, I wanna be strong too. That way, we can protect each other." The wind ruffled through his bangs, making it hard to see the way the water sparkled with diamond nuggets on the surface. They were so close and so far away, all at the same time._

_"You're weird," he said. The diamonds laughed. _

He never sleeps now. Sleep was for dreaming and dreaming stole memories. No one would steal his memories. He locks them up, bright and shining and priceless, in a box as deep and dark as the ocean itself.

7 P.M.

He comes to this place often, though never while anyone else is around to see him. The too-white walls are both there and not; he feels he could walk forever and move a thousand miles without ever traveling an inch. It doesn't matter. He didn't come here to touch walls.

The white ovoid lotus is never open, but he knows what's inside. Sometimes, he talks to it. Like it can hear him. Sometimes, he just stands in front of it and cries. It's cold and hard and nothing at all like flesh.

They'd stop him if they knew.

_Do you remember the time…_

_It was late and cold. I didn't have any shoes on and my feet were wet when I climbed in your window. I thought you'd be asleep, but you weren't. You waited for me. You knew._

_"Are they fighting again?" You asked me that, but I didn't answer you. I was afraid to answer because I knew if I did I'd start to cry, and I hated you seeing me cry. I was supposed to be your rock, your earth to stand on. Who squeezes water from a rock?_

_We made pictures out of stars and when you finally fell asleep I wished that we could run away to one of those stars and live there together forever._

_It never came true. But I never stopped wishing. _

He knows she knows he watches her work. Even though he hides well enough to fool anyone, even himself. He won't stop watching her, though.

If she messes anything up, he'll kill her.

3 A.M.

There's no sun here, and even if there were, he'd hate the way it felt on his arms. In a way, he's thankful for the coat now. It dims sensation to the point of almost-nonexistence. He doesn't have a right to feel anyway, not like this. Everything makes him nauseated. Sight, sound, smell, but touch most of all. It's like operating through a filter that taints the entirety of the world around him.

But you do what you have to.

He nods off sometimes, even though he's supposed to be watching. Watching for what? No one comes to this abandoned place, this prison of steel and electricity. He doesn't even really know what time it is anymore, not that it matters. He'll wait, and wait, and wait, until the job is finished.

The silence is oppressive. In it, hidden in the darkness, things dance…

_The soft sound of laughter… _

It's only a dream.

_I remember how you smell… _

He'll wake up soon enough.

_"Take my hand and pull yourself up. You can do it…"_

He knows he'll wake up. But if he's lucky?

_Your mouth was perfect when you smiled._

He'll convince himself he's still dreaming.


End file.
